


The Long Road Home to Bobby's House

by justspn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer saves the day, Caring Bobby Singer, Caring Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester hates vomit, Fever, Mystery Illness, Poor Sam Winchester, Sam also has mono, Sam has insomnia, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Vomiting, he can't catch a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justspn/pseuds/justspn
Summary: “I’m so tired I feel like I’ll never catch up on sleep. But when I sleep, I see her. I smell her. Sometimes I even feel her, and I hate waking up and thinking, just for a split second, that nothing happened and that I’m still in California. I hate the feeling of the whole world crashing down when I remember that she’s dead,” Sam ground out, figuring that if he just said it, it would be over.Dean’s breath caught in his throat.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	The Long Road Home to Bobby's House

The first snow of the year usually made Sam jump for joy, but ever since Jess died, he didn’t feel like anything would make him jump for joy ever again. 

Sam sighed, looking out the window of the Impala at the falling flakes.

“What’s up, Sam?” Dean asked, trying not to be frustrated by Sam’s constant moping. He knew that Sam needed time to grieve and time to heal but being around him while he did that drained Dean, emotionally and physically. The dude was just so negative all the time, Dean was having trouble being around him for long periods of time. 

“Nothing,” Sam responded. “Why do you always assume there’s something up?”

“Because you’re over there sighing like you have to solve all the problems in the world and I want you to talk to me about it!” Dean snapped, biting his cheek as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to be harsh, but I’m worried about you Sammy. I want you to tell me what’s going on inside your head.”

Sam was silent for a minute, deciding what to tell Dean. He sighed again, not even sure where to start. “I’m just tired, Dean,” Sam said quietly. 

Dean slowed the Impala to a stop on the side of the road and turned to look Sam in the eyes. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. No chick flick moments, I get that, I really do, but you need to talk to someone.” Dean paused, running a hand over his face. “I’m here for you, okay? If you change your mind.”

Sam blinked back tears and nodded. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and sunk down into his seat, pulling his hood up over his head as he went. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Dean, just that he didn’t know how to put his feelings into words. It had been a while since Jess died, almost six months. But it still hurt like it just happened. He kept dreaming about her, which was the worst part. He’d stopped seeing her in random people on the street, but he couldn’t get away from her at night. 

“How much longer you wanna be on the road for?” Dean asked as he pulled back onto the highway. 

Sam shrugged. “I don’t really care. Till you want to stop driving,” Sam responded. A shiver suddenly ran through him. He pulled his jacket closer around his body and closed his eyes, hoping he could fall into a dreamless sleep to pass the time. 

XXXXX

“Sammy, let’s go inside,” Dean said gently. They were parked outside a sketchy looking motel-which is saying something, considering where they normally stayed. 

Sam sat up, groaning as he moved. “Where are we?”

“The Shady Pines Motel, can’t you read?” Dean scoffed, pointing over his shoulder to the barely lit neon sign above him. Dean watched as Sam slowly made his way out of the car and over to the trunk to grab his bag. He was moving like he’d been hit by a bus, which was concerning because they’d been in the car for the past two days. 

“What room do we have?” Sam asked, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder. Dean grabbed his own bag and went up to one of the rooms, unlocking the door. The place had a weird smell to it but otherwise seemed pretty clean. Sam immediately dropped his bag on one of the beds and began kicking off his boots. 

“You hungry?” Dean asked, setting his own bag down. 

Sam shrugged, pulling off his coat. 

“I saw a pizza joint on the way in, we could get takeout and watch some tv,” Dean suggested. Sam looked totally exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and pale cheeks. Dean wondered if maybe Sam was getting sick, putting together the pale face and the stiff muscles. 

“That sounds fine. I’m not really hungry,” Sam said. 

Dean hesitated, debating whether to say anything to Sam or not. 

“What are you thinking so hard about? I can see the smoke coming out your ears.”

“Just trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” Dean sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. He was usually pretty good at reading Sam’s body language, but the amount of grief Sam was drowning in made it difficult for Dean to get a decent read. “You look like you’re ready to fall asleep standing up and you haven’t had an appetite in months.” 

Sam sat heavily on the bed he had claimed as his own and let out a sigh. “Look Dean,” Sam paused, not sure how to continue. “I,”

“I promise I won’t judge you or whatever reason it is that you won’t talk to me about what’s going on, I swear I won’t, but you need to let me in Sammy,” Dean interrupted, sitting on his own bed with his knees almost touching Sam’s. 

Sam leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes as he did so. “I know you don’t like chick flick moments.”

“Sammy, you’re allowed to feel and talk about whatever you need to, okay? All I’ve ever been is here for you and that will never ever change, you hear me?” Dean was talking softly, mentally kicking himself for pushing the ‘no chick flick moments’ rule so hard. 

Sam took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “Honestly Dean, I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with right now. What’s wrong right now?” 

“I’m so tired I feel like I’ll never catch up on sleep. But when I sleep, I see her. I smell her. Sometimes I even feel her, and I hate waking up and thinking, just for a split second, that nothing happened and that I’m still in California. I hate the feeling of the whole world crashing down when I remember that she’s dead,” Sam ground out, figuring that if he just said it, it would be over. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “Sammy, you should’ve said something. We could’ve gotten you some sleeping pills or something.” 

“I don’t want pills, Dean, I want to be a normal guy with a normal life. I know that will never happen, but that’s what I want.” 

“Well, you’re right. That’ll never happen. We gotta find Dad and kill whatever it is that he’s after, and once that’s done you can leave if you want. I don’t want to keep you here if you hate it so much, but I need you right now. And, as much as you might hate it, you need me right now too,” Dean said, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder, thumb rubbing softly at the nape of Sam’s neck. “Now, when were you planning on telling me about this fever you’re running?”

Sam looked up at Dean with surprise. “What?”

“You’re burning up Sammy, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve drugged you up and stopped 300 miles ago!”

Sam reached up and felt his own forehead, but it felt very normal to him. “Huh. I just assumed I felt like shit because I haven’t slept lately,” Sam said, realizing now that his throat was pretty sore too. 

Dean got up and pulled the med kit up onto the table. He dug through it until he found the thermometer and a bottle of Tylenol. “Open up,” he said as he handed the thermometer over. 

Sam knew better than to argue with Dean about being sick, so he took his temperature without saying a word. “101.4,” Sam said once the instrument was finished. 

“Take some of this and get some rest. Anything else bothering you?” Dean poured two pills into Sam’s hand and set the bottle next to the bed. 

“My throat hurts,” Sam answered after he swallowed the pills. 

“See if the Tylenol helps, and if it doesn’t, I’ll go out and find a pharmacy. You want any pizza, or would you rather have soup or something?” 

“Soup sounds better than pizza,” Sam said as he stripped out of his jeans, crawling into the bed as soon as he was down to his boxers and tee shirt. 

“Okie dokie. I’ll be right back,” Dean said, standing up and grabbing his coat. 

Sam sighed again and curled up under the blankets, shivering slightly. Even though talking to Dean hadn’t fixed anything, Sam felt a little lighter inside knowing that Dean would do everything he could to help him stop dreaming about Jess. 

XXXXX

*One Week Later*

“Ready?” Dean asked, throwing his duffle bag up onto his shoulder. 

Sam nodded and stood up, grabbing his own bag. His fever had stuck around for a few days but broke easily and Dean didn’t seem too concerned, so why should Sam be concerned that his throat still burned every time he swallowed? Sam followed Dean out to the car and tossed his bag in the trunk, just like always. He climbed into the passenger seat, just like always, and watched as Dean popped a Led Zeppelin track in the stereo, just like always. Not just like always, however, was the feeling of nausea creeping up his spine. The Winchester boys were never carsick, never ever, and they hadn’t even started driving yet, but Sam decided that carsickness was the reason behind his upset stomach and curled up in his seat to try and sleep it off. 

He awoke about an hour later feeling a little less nauseous but a lot more tired than he had been when they left the motel. 

“Well good morning sunshine,” Dean said, noticing that Sam was finally awake. Sam just groaned and moved to a more comfortable position in the front seat. “You okay? You’re lookin’ a little pasty,” Dean asked, concern flooding his stomach. Sam had gotten over the fever he was running pretty quickly but he still had dark circles under his eyes. Dean had been pretty sure that Sam was good to hit the road again after a few days, but maybe he had rushed it a bit. 

“I’m fine, Dean, just let me sleep,” Sam ground out, his throat dry and rough from the nap he’d taken. 

“Here,” Dean said, digging around in the bag on the seat between them for a bottle of water. He cracked it open and handed it over to Sam. “Drink some of this before you go back to sleep.” 

Sam gladly accepted the water and took a few sips. He jumped when Dean reached over and placed his hand on Sam’s forehead. “Dude, I told you, I’m fine,” Sam said, shoving Dean’s hand away. 

“I call bullshit. Your fever is back,” Dean said with a sigh. “What’s goin’ on Sammy? Should I drag you to the doctor?”

“I don’t know Dean.” Sam swallowed thickly, realizing that his nausea was back and much stronger than before. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, focusing on taking deep breaths through his nose. 

“Hey, don’t you dare throw up in my car,” Dean said as he glanced over at Sam. He quickly pulled the car over and put it in park before reaching over Sam to open the passenger door, unbuckling Sam’s seatbelt once the door was open. 

“’M not gonna puke, relax,” Sam whispered, pulling his jacket closer around him. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to throw up, but maybe Dean would close the door if he pretended he wasn’t gonna vomit everywhere. It was fucking cold out and it made Sam’s bones ache. 

Dean reached over and pulled the door shut again but slid his body over to the middle seat so he could get Sam out of the car quickly if he needed to. He could see Sam shivering despite the layers he was wearing. Dean gently felt Sam’s forehead and swore under his breath. “You’re burnin’ up.” 

“Don’t feel very good,” Sam admitted, opening his eyes again. He didn’t feel like he was going to throw up in the immediate future anymore. He leaned over and rested his head against Dean’s shoulder. Sam could feel tears stinging his eyes and he hastily wiped at them. 

“I know Sammy,” Dean responded quietly. Glancing at the clock, Dean did a little math in his head and came up with a plan. “Okay, I know what we’re gonna do. If you can manage it, we’ll head over to Bobby’s house. We’re about 4 hours out, so you’ll have to survive a while longer in the car, but once we get there we can camp out until you’re completely over this bug, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam whispered, letting a few tears fall now. He hadn’t been sick since before Jess died, and, he knew it sounded silly, but he wanted her now more than ever to take care of him. When he and Jess had first started dating, he remembered catching the flu and he wanted Dean and only Dean to take care of him. Now he only wanted Jess and he couldn’t have her. That thought only made more tears fall, and it took too much energy to try and stop them, so Sam just let them fall. 

XXXXX

Dean let out a breath of relief when he pulled into Bobby’s yard and saw Bobby waiting for them in the doorway. Sam had slept most of the ride there but woke a few times feeling sick to his stomach. He never threw up, but Dean assumed that was more because of sheer will power than anything. 

“Sammy, wake up,” Dean said gently, reaching over to nudge Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam woke up and immediately wanted to throw up. He’d managed to keep his stomach contents in place for the drive simply because he knew once he started throwing up, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Groaning without opening his mouth, Sam opened the door and leaned out enough to vomit onto the snow without getting any on Dean’s precious car. Dean was behind him in a second, holding onto Sam’s shoulders so he wouldn’t fall out of the car. 

“Jesus, what’s the matter with him? Thought you said he only had a fever?” Bobby asked, rushing over to try and help Sam. 

“This is a new development,” Dean responded, digging through the glove box for some napkins. He handed a few to Sam when it seemed like Sam was finished throwing up. He also gave Sam his water, all without completely letting go of his brother’s shoulders. Dean was a little worried that Sam wouldn’t be able to sit up without Dean holding him there.

“Well, let’s get him inside,” Bobby urged, grabbing one of Sam’s arms. 

“I’m okay, really,” Sam started. He didn’t get very far before his voice gave out on him. 

“I don’t think that ya are, ya idgit,” Bobby said as he pulled Sam to his feet. Sam leaned heavily on Bobby as they made their way inside but felt proud of himself for making it to the couch without passing out. There were green spots covering most of his vision and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. He leaned over on his knees and let his head fall down as low as it would go. “Don’t go unconscious on me, ya hear? You’re too big for me to carry around like a baby,” Bobby said, retreating to the kitchen as quickly as he could to get the med kit he kept on top of the fridge. 

“I’ll try,” Sam responded, his eyes falling closed. He felt a little better now that he had thrown up and was sitting down again but could tell he was going to be sick again soon. Not that he had anything left in his stomach to throw up, but he was sure his stomach would force it out regardless. 

Bobby came bustling back into the living room, followed closely by Dean, and had the med kit and a mixing bowl in his hands. “Throw up in this and not on my couch, kay?” Bobby said, placing the bowl on the floor by Sam’s feet. Sam could feel Bobby set the med kit on the couch next to him and could tell Bobby was really digging for something without opening his eyes. “Ah, here it is,” Bobby said as he pulled the thermometer out of the med kit. After pushing the button to turn it on, he handed it down to Sam. 

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, pushing Bobby’s hand out of his face. He was incredibly nauseous all of a sudden. Unable to keep a whine from escaping his lips, Sam grabbed the mixing bowl and brought it up under his chin. His ears felt prickling and hot and before he knew what was happening he was vomiting into the bowl. He could feel Dean rubbing his back as he sat there, hunched over, shivering profusely. 

"Ya done for a minute?" Bobby asked when it seemed like Sam had calmed down. 

Sam nodded and held out the bowl for someone else to deal with. He heard Bobby swear under his breath as he took the bowl to the bathroom to clean. "Sorry," Sam murmured, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for Sammy," Dean responded as he kept rubbing a steady hand up and down Sam's back. Dean could feel how much Dam was shaking through his jacket. "Let's get some layers off you so you can warm up, okay?"

Sam helped get himself undressed as much as he could, but Dean did most of the work, leaving Sam in his boxers and t-shirt. Before Sam could complain about sitting in the living room in his underwear, Dean was sliding a pair of sweatpants onto his legs. Shortly after that, Sam felt a blanket get draped over his shoulders. Bobby was back with the bowl by then, and he placed it on the floor next to Sam. 

"Tell me what's going on so I can call the doctor," Bobby said quietly, brushing Sam's hair out of his face. 

Sam shifted so he was lying on the couch, huddled under the blanket. "'M nauseous. My throat hurts, body hurts. Fever?" Sam paused, looking up at Bobby who nodded. "And I'm so fucking exhausted no matter how much I sleep," Sam finished, his voice croaky and quiet. 

"Well, try and get some rest. I'm gonna call my doctor in town and see if you can't get squeezed in tomorrow," Bobby said. 

Dean ran his hand through Sam's hair a few times, nails scratching at his scalp, before following Bobby into the kitchen. 

"He hasn't been sleeping well since Jess died. He said he's been seeing her in his dreams and that makes him not want to fall asleep and I can't say I blame him," Dean said once they were sitting at the small table in the kitchen. 

"Jesus, poor kid. His symptoms make me wonder if he's gone and got himself mono somehow." Bobby pulled off his hat and used the brim of it to scratch the back of his head. "I'm shocked you ain't got it yet." 

"We don't tend to swap spit, believe it or not," Dean responded, laughing a little. 

"Maybe so, but you sure spend an awful lot of time together," Bobby said as he stood up. "Maybe you oughta get tested too, just so we're prepared for two rounds of whatever this is." He walked over to where his house phone, the real one, was mounted on the wall by the fridge. 

Dean didn't feel like eavesdropping on Bobby's chat with the doctor, so he went back to the living room to check on Sam. 

Sam wasn't asleep when Dean came back into the room but he was very warm and relaxed in his blanket cocoon. He lifted up his head so Dean could sit down and use his lap as a pillow. Sam liked it when Dean scratched his head when he was sick as a child, and he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it until Dean had done it a few minutes ago. 

"Think you can take your temperature without ralphin'?" Dean asked, reaching over to grab the thermometer off the coffee table. 

Sam took the instrument from Dean's hand without a word and stuck it under his tongue. Now that he wasn't in the car or walking around he felt much better, besides the fever and sore throat. 

Dean clucked his tongue when he saw the degree of Sam's fever but didn't say anything. "Drink some water, you're dehydrated." He handed Sam a fresh bottle of water and let Sam lean against him as he propped himself up to drink. 

After a few sips, Sam handed the water back to Dean and snuggled down into his blanket again. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep and not dream about Jess, not dream about anything, actually. 

XXXXX

Bobby had managed to fit both boys in at the doctor's office to get tested for mono at the same time, which was a miracle in itself. Usually the doctor was booked weeks in advance. He walked quietly back into the living room, checking to see if Sam was asleep before speaking in a voice louder than a whisper. 

“You get us in?” Dean asked, talking softly. Sam’s eyes were closed but he didn’t look relaxed enough to be sleeping. 

“Yeah, but the appointment is at the ass crack of dawn,” Bobby replied, sitting in the arm chair across from the couch. “Gotta leave here by 7.” 

Dean just nodded and kept running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Sammy, you wanna sleep on the couch or upstairs?” Dean asked quietly, not wanting to bother Sam too much. 

“I’ll go upstairs,” Sam answered. He sounded very drowsy, even to his own ears. He slowly sat up, and, once he was adjusted to sitting, stood, leaning on Dean the whole time. They made their way up the stairs and down the hall to the room they had always slept in while they visited Bobby. It still had the same pair of twin sized beds it had always had, with the same, ugly ass 80’s bedspreads. Sam shuffled over to the bed he always slept in, against the far wall, and cocooned himself under the blankets. 

Dean sat on his own bed, watching Sam shiver for a minute before speaking. “Dunno if you heard but we have appointments tomorrow morning. Gotta leave at 7, okay?” 

“Got it,” Sam answered sleepily. Now that he was in a real bed he wanted to sleep forever. He had a nagging feeling that he might throw up again but he tried to ignore it as he let himself drift off. 

Waking up suddenly, Sam knew he couldn’t ignore his stomach any longer. He groped for a trash can or something, anything, he could throw up in before he vomited all over the bed. It was pitch black in the room and Sam didn’t know exactly where he was, just that he needed something to throw up in or else things would get messy. 

Dean heard all the commotion and flicked the lamp on between the two beds. They both squinted in the harsh light, but Dean saw Sam, green as a frog, leaning over the bed grabbing for the trash can Dean had put there before he went to sleep. Dean winced as Sam threw up and got out of bed to hold his brother up. Most of the vomit (which was mostly water and bile) had ended up in the trash can but there was a little on the carpet. Dean rubbed Sam’s back and then hauled him into a sitting position so that Sam could catch his breath while he leaned against the headboard. 

“You good for a minute while I clean this out?” Dean asked, gesturing to the trash can. Sam nodded and closed his eyes, wishing he was asleep instead of feeling as nauseous as he was. 

Dean grabbed the trash can and hurried to the bathroom where he dumped out the vomit and rinsed the can, gagging at the smell. It looked like water, which was the best case scenario really. Dean Winchester could not do vomit. Not his own, not Sam’s. If there were chunks, he was out and probably throwing up himself. He hustled back to their room and sighed when he saw that Sam didn’t have a green hue to him anymore. 

“You gonna be able to go back to sleep?” Dean asked, trying to stifle a yawn. He looked at the clock on the wall: 3AM. 

Sam nodded and slowly sunk back down under the blankets. He let his eyes slip closed and tried to fall back into whatever dream he was having before he was so rudely woken up. After a minute he sighed, not able to fall asleep immediately. 

“Sammy, you didn’t even try. Go to sleep,” Dean said when he noticed that Sam’s eyes were staring at the ceiling. He clicked off the light and went back to bed. 

XXXXX

“That was the doctor, he said that Sam’s positive for mono but you’re in the clear for now,” Bobby whispered, entering the living room. Sam was asleep on the couch again and had been for hours since their doctors appointment. 

“What now?” Dean asked softly, still carding his fingers through Sam’s hair. 

“Just let him rest. Doc said since he’s had symptoms about a week his fevers and the throwing up should stop within the next week. If not he needs to go back for another check-up.”

“So there’s nothing we can do for him other than letting him sleep?” Dean was glad he had told Bobby about Sam seeing Jess in his dreams because the doctor had given him a prescription for some sleeping medication to last him as long as his mono would stick around. Long enough to let Sam recover but not long enough to get him hooked on sleeping pills. 

“Nope, just gotta let him rest,” Bobby repeated. 

Dean leaned back into the couch and sighed, wishing he could heal Sam right now so he didn’t have to suffer anymore. 

XXXXX

A couple weeks later, Sam and Dean were back on the road. Sam was still tired all the time, but he had stopped feeling sick and was ready to get out of Bobby’s house. 

Sam reached over to turn the radio down, which caught Dean’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, nervous that he had rushed Sam again and that he was feeling sick again. 

“Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you for listening to me and for not judging my chick flick moment,” Sam said, looking out his window so he didn’t have to meet Dean’s eye. 

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. I’ll always listen to you, Sammy, you know that,” Dean responded, a smile breaking out across his face. “I’m just glad you’re done puking all the time. Ick,” Dean said as he shivered, remembering all the vomit he’d had to clean out of mixing bowls and trash cans. 

“Sorry, next time I’ll just suffer on my own,” Sam bickered back. He knew Dean was joking but he did feel a little bad about Dean and Bobby taking care of him for so long. 

“I’m just kiddin’,” Dean said, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Thought it would never end.” 

“You’re telling me. I still feel like I’ll never not be tired though,” Sam said, slouching in his seat. 

“Get some rest, bitch. I’ll wake you up when we get there,” Dean said, turning the radio back up a few notches. 

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam replied, a smile pulling at his lips.


End file.
